Happy Birthday!!
Happy Birthday berenicepotter
The days before Christmas.
Author’s notes: Birthday-fic for BerenicePotter, AKA Leda!! Feliz Cumpleaños, mi amiga!! And no, I had actually begun writing on the first scene before I saw that fanart of yours with a similar theme. Otherwise I might have written it more like that fanart. And, ehh, bit of family fluff. Practicing some characters and such.
Disclaimer: Characters from HP owned by JK, Original Characters owned by Leda. Santa owns all.
Words: 1 582
“So Father Christmas will really come to our house?”
Lauren was as excited as a five year old witch could be, tugging on her mother’s sleeve as the whole family were taking their usual winter walk through the woods.
“That’s right,” said her mother Luna. “Though you probably won’t get to see him.”
“Why not?” asked Kevin, Lauren’s younger brother, giving his mother a quizzical look.
“Because Father Christmas doesn’t like to be seen.”
“Why not?” asked Kevin yet again, confident that his mother would reply. While most adults had a tendency of getting irritated and just say ‘because that’s how it is’, the Weasley mother would always answer her children’s questions, and even encourage them to ask more.
“Because some people can believe without having to see for themselves, while others would never believe unless they saw with their own eyes. But Father Christmas likes to know which ones would believe in him even if they never saw him once.”
“Why?” asked Michael, in exactly the same fashion as his twin brother.
“Because the ones who would believe even if they never saw as much as a glimpse of him, are the ones with the pure hearts of small children. And Father Christmas loves children, and people that can remain children at heart, so much that he gives them many presents. That way the kind and the pure of heart are always rewarded.”
“Mommy, are you pure of heart?” asked Lauren, almost anxiously as she peeked up at her mother’s smiling face.
“Well, I do believe in Santa, though I’ve never seen him.”
“But wha’ abou’ Da-Da,” asked Bethany the second youngest of the Weasley children, tugging imploringly at her father’s sleeve.
“Well,” said Ron, who had preferred to stay out of this conversation. “Ahem, I have to admit that I don’t really know what to believe. In my life I’ve seen a lot of things, and for all I know Father Christmas really could exist. But I can’t help but find it hard to believe it when I’ve never once seen him.”
Lauren turned to her father with a big smile.
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said. “You’re always so nice, so Father Christmas will give you many presents even if you don’t believe in him.”
“Thanks luv,” Ron said with a smile before walking faster so he caught up with his oldest child and lifted her up in the air. “That compliment earns you a piggy ride.”
“Hey, no fair!” exclaimed Kevin.
“We want to too!” chimed Michael.
Soon all four of the older children were on top of their father, leading them to fall in a heap in the snow. Luna stopped the stroller in which the youngest was taking his nap, and looked to take in this sight before her; her children easily keeping their father pinned through their numbers and his desperate attempts at trying to get up in a sitting position where he might get in control again. As luck would have it, she remembered that she had managed to take the camera with her, and pulled it out of her handbag.
“Hey, Luna! Could you give me a hand here?”
“In a moment, dear,” she said as she looked through the camera, aiming it so she would get as good a picture as possible. “Smile!” Ron had just managed to look in her direction when the flash went off, Lauren and Bethany smiled towards their mother, but the twins were too busy pinning down their dad to even notice anything until the flash went off.
Luna smiled towards her snow-covered family.
“Now that’s the picture I’m going to use for the Christmas card.”
A couple of days later in a different household, another family were preparing themselves to go to the annual Weasley Christmas party that started a week before Christmas. Though the Potters were not related to the Weasleys by blood, except for a very distant relationship several generations past, they were considered to be as much part of the family as any of the Weasley children. Little Harriet Potter was most eager to go to the party.
“Mum! Where’s my hairbrush?” the five-year-old cried out from upstairs.
Hermione Granger Potter sighed to herself. She was pretty sure that she had told her daughter one and one hundred times to come downstairs if she wanted to ask a question, rather than to shout between the floors. Nevertheless she got up from her chair where she had been applying the last of her make-up, and walked up to her oldest daughter’s room.
“I’m pretty sure it is where you last left it,” she said as she looked in through the door. “Have you checked the endless pile of clothes on your floor?”
Harriet would hardly call the pile endless, it ended very well within an inch from the walls.
“Yes mum, it’s not there.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Hermione gave her daughter a look of scrutiny, which Harriet couldn’t help but fold to.
“Well,” she said in one last attempt of protest, “I can say that I’ve looked in the places which makes most sense for it to be.”
Hermione had to silent the laughter threatening to erupt. Sometimes her daughter was too alike her.
“In that case,” she said, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, in a gesture as if she were about to bestow a great family heirloom on her only daughter, “I can tell you that in my own experience, had things been where they would have made sense to be in, one wouldn’t have needed looking for them. I suggest you broaden your search area, and try looking beneath this mess. It might be a good idea to put your things where they should be, so you don’t end up having to look in the same place twice.”
“But that will take ages!”
“Not if you’re effective, and don’t drag your feet. We have several hours to go before we Floo to The Burrow, so there’s plenty of time. Good luck!” Hermione walked out of the room to return back to her make-up.
Harriet looked at her room, knowing fully well that there was no escaping it.
“Well,” she said to either herself or to the room. “If I must...”
“You know, you could have just used Accio back there.”
Hermione didn’t let her husband interrupt the final stages in her make-up applying. Since she first started to use make-up on a more regular basis she had developed a system, one that worked well for her. She didn’t like to rush with that system, hence why she had started to early with it. Knowing her family, there would be some kind of disaster that would force them into having to rush to avoid being late.
“I know, and if she honestly can’t find her hairbrush, I might.” She evened out her rouge as she continued. “Just because we’re an all magical family, doesn’t mean there is any reason to spoil our children with magic. Not yet, at any rate.”
“You’re right, dear,” he said, kissing her on her temple. “I guess I’m the one who likes to spoil our kids.”
Hermione was just about to tell him that he’d have plenty opportunity for that during Christmas, and perhaps hint that she’d do a bit of spoiling herself, when they were interrupted by a shout from upstairs.
“I found it!”
Harriet ran triumphantly down the stairs with her hairbrush in a tight grip.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” Hermione said proudly. “See what you can find when you actually look for it?”
“Yes, mum.”
Fred knocked at his twin’s apartment door. A smirk quickly grew on his face when he could hear from the other side of the door the twins’ trademark cough to disguise insane laughing. As the door opened, it was only more apparent.
“Hi Fred,” said George in a mostly failed attempt at sounding sober. “You guys ready to use the office Floo?”
“Yes, I was just checking to see if you guys were. Angelina and the kids are waiting downstairs.”
“Great, well as you can see, we just got ready over here too.” George made a grand sweeping gesture to indicate the innards of the apartment, where his wife was combing their son’s hair. “Jonathan,” George called to his only son. “Say ‘hullo’ to your uncle.”
As Jonathan turned towards him, Fred could immediately see the reason for why George had been hiding his laughter. Jonathan was wearing a blue suit for children, a red big bow-tie and his hair was water-combed.
“How do you like our precious little angel,” chimed Alicia in, fully enjoying how cute her son looked.
Fred turned towards George in a pompous manner.
“My condolences, dear brother. You have indeed passed on the Percy gene, the rare gene that skips and hops here and there in our family.”
“I’m not keeping this thing on,” said Jonathan as he reached to claw off the tie.
“Actually,” George said. “I’d suggest you keep it on. Your grandmother will love it. She might even give you treats for it.”
In the five year old boy’s mind raged a furious battle between pride and greed, for a whole two seconds. Greed won.
“Okay,” he said. “But only for grandma’s sake.”
“Of course,” said George, patting Jonathan lightly on the back as the family made their way to the fireplace.
“But we’ll still have to take photos of it,” said Fred, bringing up the rear.
“Oh naturally,” said George.
The days before Christmas.
Author’s notes: Birthday-fic for BerenicePotter, AKA Leda!! Feliz Cumpleaños, mi amiga!! And no, I had actually begun writing on the first scene before I saw that fanart of yours with a similar theme. Otherwise I might have written it more like that fanart. And, ehh, bit of family fluff. Practicing some characters and such.
Disclaimer: Characters from HP owned by JK, Original Characters owned by Leda. Santa owns all.
Words: 1 582
“So Father Christmas will really come to our house?”
Lauren was as excited as a five year old witch could be, tugging on her mother’s sleeve as the whole family were taking their usual winter walk through the woods.
“That’s right,” said her mother Luna. “Though you probably won’t get to see him.”
“Why not?” asked Kevin, Lauren’s younger brother, giving his mother a quizzical look.
“Because Father Christmas doesn’t like to be seen.”
“Why not?” asked Kevin yet again, confident that his mother would reply. While most adults had a tendency of getting irritated and just say ‘because that’s how it is’, the Weasley mother would always answer her children’s questions, and even encourage them to ask more.
“Because some people can believe without having to see for themselves, while others would never believe unless they saw with their own eyes. But Father Christmas likes to know which ones would believe in him even if they never saw him once.”
“Why?” asked Michael, in exactly the same fashion as his twin brother.
“Because the ones who would believe even if they never saw as much as a glimpse of him, are the ones with the pure hearts of small children. And Father Christmas loves children, and people that can remain children at heart, so much that he gives them many presents. That way the kind and the pure of heart are always rewarded.”
“Mommy, are you pure of heart?” asked Lauren, almost anxiously as she peeked up at her mother’s smiling face.
“Well, I do believe in Santa, though I’ve never seen him.”
“But wha’ abou’ Da-Da,” asked Bethany the second youngest of the Weasley children, tugging imploringly at her father’s sleeve.
“Well,” said Ron, who had preferred to stay out of this conversation. “Ahem, I have to admit that I don’t really know what to believe. In my life I’ve seen a lot of things, and for all I know Father Christmas really could exist. But I can’t help but find it hard to believe it when I’ve never once seen him.”
Lauren turned to her father with a big smile.
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said. “You’re always so nice, so Father Christmas will give you many presents even if you don’t believe in him.”
“Thanks luv,” Ron said with a smile before walking faster so he caught up with his oldest child and lifted her up in the air. “That compliment earns you a piggy ride.”
“Hey, no fair!” exclaimed Kevin.
“We want to too!” chimed Michael.
Soon all four of the older children were on top of their father, leading them to fall in a heap in the snow. Luna stopped the stroller in which the youngest was taking his nap, and looked to take in this sight before her; her children easily keeping their father pinned through their numbers and his desperate attempts at trying to get up in a sitting position where he might get in control again. As luck would have it, she remembered that she had managed to take the camera with her, and pulled it out of her handbag.
“Hey, Luna! Could you give me a hand here?”
“In a moment, dear,” she said as she looked through the camera, aiming it so she would get as good a picture as possible. “Smile!” Ron had just managed to look in her direction when the flash went off, Lauren and Bethany smiled towards their mother, but the twins were too busy pinning down their dad to even notice anything until the flash went off.
Luna smiled towards her snow-covered family.
“Now that’s the picture I’m going to use for the Christmas card.”
A couple of days later in a different household, another family were preparing themselves to go to the annual Weasley Christmas party that started a week before Christmas. Though the Potters were not related to the Weasleys by blood, except for a very distant relationship several generations past, they were considered to be as much part of the family as any of the Weasley children. Little Harriet Potter was most eager to go to the party.
“Mum! Where’s my hairbrush?” the five-year-old cried out from upstairs.
Hermione Granger Potter sighed to herself. She was pretty sure that she had told her daughter one and one hundred times to come downstairs if she wanted to ask a question, rather than to shout between the floors. Nevertheless she got up from her chair where she had been applying the last of her make-up, and walked up to her oldest daughter’s room.
“I’m pretty sure it is where you last left it,” she said as she looked in through the door. “Have you checked the endless pile of clothes on your floor?”
Harriet would hardly call the pile endless, it ended very well within an inch from the walls.
“Yes mum, it’s not there.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Hermione gave her daughter a look of scrutiny, which Harriet couldn’t help but fold to.
“Well,” she said in one last attempt of protest, “I can say that I’ve looked in the places which makes most sense for it to be.”
Hermione had to silent the laughter threatening to erupt. Sometimes her daughter was too alike her.
“In that case,” she said, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, in a gesture as if she were about to bestow a great family heirloom on her only daughter, “I can tell you that in my own experience, had things been where they would have made sense to be in, one wouldn’t have needed looking for them. I suggest you broaden your search area, and try looking beneath this mess. It might be a good idea to put your things where they should be, so you don’t end up having to look in the same place twice.”
“But that will take ages!”
“Not if you’re effective, and don’t drag your feet. We have several hours to go before we Floo to The Burrow, so there’s plenty of time. Good luck!” Hermione walked out of the room to return back to her make-up.
Harriet looked at her room, knowing fully well that there was no escaping it.
“Well,” she said to either herself or to the room. “If I must...”
“You know, you could have just used Accio back there.”
Hermione didn’t let her husband interrupt the final stages in her make-up applying. Since she first started to use make-up on a more regular basis she had developed a system, one that worked well for her. She didn’t like to rush with that system, hence why she had started to early with it. Knowing her family, there would be some kind of disaster that would force them into having to rush to avoid being late.
“I know, and if she honestly can’t find her hairbrush, I might.” She evened out her rouge as she continued. “Just because we’re an all magical family, doesn’t mean there is any reason to spoil our children with magic. Not yet, at any rate.”
“You’re right, dear,” he said, kissing her on her temple. “I guess I’m the one who likes to spoil our kids.”
Hermione was just about to tell him that he’d have plenty opportunity for that during Christmas, and perhaps hint that she’d do a bit of spoiling herself, when they were interrupted by a shout from upstairs.
“I found it!”
Harriet ran triumphantly down the stairs with her hairbrush in a tight grip.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” Hermione said proudly. “See what you can find when you actually look for it?”
“Yes, mum.”
Fred knocked at his twin’s apartment door. A smirk quickly grew on his face when he could hear from the other side of the door the twins’ trademark cough to disguise insane laughing. As the door opened, it was only more apparent.
“Hi Fred,” said George in a mostly failed attempt at sounding sober. “You guys ready to use the office Floo?”
“Yes, I was just checking to see if you guys were. Angelina and the kids are waiting downstairs.”
“Great, well as you can see, we just got ready over here too.” George made a grand sweeping gesture to indicate the innards of the apartment, where his wife was combing their son’s hair. “Jonathan,” George called to his only son. “Say ‘hullo’ to your uncle.”
As Jonathan turned towards him, Fred could immediately see the reason for why George had been hiding his laughter. Jonathan was wearing a blue suit for children, a red big bow-tie and his hair was water-combed.
“How do you like our precious little angel,” chimed Alicia in, fully enjoying how cute her son looked.
Fred turned towards George in a pompous manner.
“My condolences, dear brother. You have indeed passed on the Percy gene, the rare gene that skips and hops here and there in our family.”
“I’m not keeping this thing on,” said Jonathan as he reached to claw off the tie.
“Actually,” George said. “I’d suggest you keep it on. Your grandmother will love it. She might even give you treats for it.”
In the five year old boy’s mind raged a furious battle between pride and greed, for a whole two seconds. Greed won.
“Okay,” he said. “But only for grandma’s sake.”
“Of course,” said George, patting Jonathan lightly on the back as the family made their way to the fireplace.
“But we’ll still have to take photos of it,” said Fred, bringing up the rear.
“Oh naturally,” said George.